Lost City - Cussler Clive (читать книги полные TXT) 📗

He pulled the Jaguar up to the curb and led Skye to a two-story stone building of medieval architecture. He punched the bell and a moment later a short round man in his sixties, wearing a pale gray workman's smock, opened the door and greeted them with a wide smile. He ushered them into the house, where Darnay made introductions.

Weebel seemed to have been assembled of mismatched spare parts. His skull-bald head was too large for his shoulders. When he removed his old-fashioned spectacles, his kindly eyes were seen to be too small for his face. His legs were stumpy. Yet his perfect mouth and teeth could have come from a fashion model and his fingers were long and slender, like those of a concert pianist. He reminded Skye

of Mole from the English classic The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame.

Weebel shot a shy glance in Skye's direction. He said, "Now I know why I have not heard from you, Charles. You have been otherwise distracted."

"As a matter of fact, Mademoiselle Labelle arrived only a little while ago, my good friend. I have filled the time since her arrival telling her of your wonderful skills."

Weebel replied with a self-effacing tut-tut, but it was evident from his expression that the compliment pleased him. "Thank you, Charles. I was just brewing some hibiscus tea," he said, and led them into a neatly ordered kitchen, where they sat at a trestle table. Weebel poured the tea, then peppered Skye with questions about her work. As she patiently answered the questions, she had the feeling that Weebel was tucking her answers in tidy mental files.

"Charles has told me about your work as well, Monsieur Weebel." When he became excited, Weebel punctuated his speech with a quick "Aha," spoken as one word.

"He has. Well then. Aha. I'll show you my workshop." He led them down a narrow staircase to the basement, which was brightly lit with fluorescent lights. It was basically a blacksmith's shop equipped with a forge, anvil, chisels, specialized hammers and pincers, all tools geared for the amorer's basic task, which was beating out plates from hot metal. An assortment of breastplates, leg armor, gauntlets and other protective equipment hung from the walls. Darnay's practiced eye glanced at a shelf holding several helmets of various styles.

"Where is the piece I left here?"

"A special headpiece like that deserves special treatment," Weebel said. He went over to the suit of armor standing in the corner, flipped up the visor and reached inside. "This is a mass-produced item. Aha. I have them fabricated in China for the restaurant trade mostly."

He activated a switch inside the suit and a section of wall panel about four feet wide opened with a soft click to reveal a steel door. He punched out a number on the combination keypad. Behind the door was a room the size of a walk-in closet. The walls were lined with shelves stacked with wooden boxes of odd sizes, each marked with a number.

Weebel picked out a tall square case, which he brought into the workshop. He set it on a table and lifted out the Fauchard helmet. Skye eyed the embossed face and thought back to the portrait of Jules she had seen at the Fauchard chateau.

"A remarkable piece. Remarkable. Aha." Weebel waved his hands over the helmet like a fortune-teller looking into a crystal ball. "I had my metallurgist look at it. The iron used to make the steel was most unusual. He believes it may have come from a meteorite."

Darnay smiled at Skye. "That was Mademoiselle Labelle's theory. Have you dated this piece?"

"Some of the design features were innovative, as. you pointed out. I would place it in the fifteen hundreds, which is when the embossing of human or animal facial characteristics into the visor caught on. It is possible that the metal itself is much older, and that the helmet was recast from an earlier one. This dent is a proof mark apparently made to test the vulnerability of the metal to a bullet. It did very well at stopping the projectile. Not so well with this hole. It could have been made at close range or by a firearm of great power, perhaps at a more recent date. Maybe someone used this for target practice." "What about the manufacturer?"

"The helmet is one of the finest pieces I've ever seen. Look here on the inside. Not a hammer dimple mark to be seen. Even without the hallmark, I would know that there was only one armor maker that made such high-quality metal. The Fauchard family." "What can you tell me about the manufacturer?" Skye said. "The Fauchards were one of only three families that founded the

guild that became what we know today as Spear Industries. Each family specialized in a certain area. One family forged the metal, the other fashioned the actual armor. The Fauchards were the sales arm, which sent agents traveling around Europe to sell their wares. They were well connected politically as a result. Normally they did not use their hallmark. They believed that the quality of their armor spoke for itself, which is why it is strange to see that they engraved their coat of arms into the crown of this piece. The helmet must have special significance to the family."

"Madame Fauchard told me that each eagle head stands for the original founding families," Skye said.

Weebel's eyes did a quick flutter. "You actually spoke to Madame Fauchard?" Skye nodded.

uExtraordinary. It is said she is a total recluse. What was she like?" "A combination of a scorpion and a black widow spider," Skye answered without hesitation. "She said the eagle in the middle represents the Fauchards, who came to dominate the company through death and marriage."

Weebel burst forth with a nervous laugh. "Did she tell you that many of these deaths were untimely and the marriages were mostly forced to cement their power?"

"Madame Fauchard is very selective when it comes to talking about her family. For instance, she denies the story that they were powerful enough to instigate World War One, and had a hand in promoting World War Two."

"Those rumors have circulated for many years. A number of arms merchants encouraged and facilitated the war. The Fauchards were in the thick of it. Aha. Where did you hear that story?"

"From an Englishman named Cavendish. He also said the Fauchards stole his family's process for making steel."

"Ah, Sir Cavendish. Yes, that's quite true. His family came up

with a superior steel process. The Fauchards stole it." His fingers caressed the helmet. "Tell me, do you see anything unusual about the eagle design?"

She inspected the helmet and saw nothing she hadn't seen before.

"Wait. I see it. There are more spears in one claw than the other."

"A sharp eye, aha. I noticed the same thing and compared it to the Fauchard coat of arms. The number of spears in each claw is even in the original hallmark. When I examined the helmet more closely, I found that the extra spear was added long after it was fabricated. Probably within the last hundred years or so."

"Why would anyone do that?" Skye said.

Weebel smiled mysteriously and placed the helmet under a magnifying glass attached to a stand. "See for yourself, Mademoiselle Labelle." Skye peered through the glass for a moment. "The spear shaft and head are actually writing of some sort. Numbers and letters. Come look, Charles."

Darnay took a turn at the magnifier. "It seems to be an algebraic equation."

"Yes, yes, aha. That was my feeling as well," Weebel said. "I have been unable to decipher it. A specialist is needed."